Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘m/m historical novels’

A forty-year-old veteran Roman soldier. A twenty-year-old Welsh pony trainer. The story of their meeting, their coupling, their loss and re-discovery of each other, are told in The Iron Warrior series of historical M/M romances Warrior, Ride HardWarrior, Stand Tall…Warrior, Come Again.

In WARRIOR, STAND TALL the older man has been held captive beneath a dolmen, a kind of megalithic tomb near holy Tara in ancient Ireland. Going back there with his lover Wynn, he remembers his captivity.

~oOo~

dolmen 500As soon as they had walked into the chamber of stone, Gristle felt an echoing stillness. This is where he had lain, almost accepting death. Here is where the sky, a massive lintel stone, had pressed into his chest and weighed on his mind, bringing him close to the calm of oblivion.

He felt again the mote of his inner strength that had escaped his weak flesh. He saw it again in the eye of his mind, watched it waft on the moving air of his own breath. Some remnant of memory persisted as he looked at the cracks and shafts of light overhead. He had risen to one of those fissures. He had clearly seen through to the sward and the trees beyond, into, and past the bruising rain.

warrior helmet copy

Again he felt the keen joy of liberation, remembered hearing his own hoarse voice shout through the widening crack in the stone. “Fuck you! Fuck Fortuna!”

blond warriorHe turned to Wynn, the golden man who stood in a fawn-gold robe at his side. The red fox-fur trim at the neck picked up the brindled russet-and-blond of his flowing hair.

For a moment he was still speechless, as though crying to the implacable goddess had robbed him of his ability to speak, ever again. Finally, his voice escaped her grip.

“Wynn. This is perfect.”

Wynn had seen to it that this sepulcher became a warm, sheltering room. Their blankets, a source of light, his precious whetstone—all he really wanted were laid out as though in a wedding chamber, waiting for them to join in a new partnership.

Much later, when Wynn’s head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, Gristle marveled at how much this young man had brought him, in such a short period of time. Except for the scant eleven months with Tristus, he had spent forty years of his life in an empty room. It had been a room devoid of windows, harsh of floor, built of sharp angles and unyielding as flint.

He had known Wynn about six months. And out of that six months, he and Wynn had been physically together less than half that time. And yet even from the first hours after they had lain together, his world had begun to swell from the tiny, dark enclosure to this—this sun-raptured cosmos he called “love.”

… Wynn stirred in his arms.

“Gris.”

“I am here.”

“I need to take ye.”

Gristle’s throat erupted in a strange sound he barely recognized as a cough-like laugh. “You have already taken me. To a far, marvelous place. A place I never want to leave.”

“Nay. To take your alabaster ass.”

Before Gristle could react, Wynn became a maelstrom of flashing legs and strong, muscular arms, and Gristle found himself lying on his stomach on the tarred cloth. To his shame, he was breathing hard, while Wynn seemed fresh. Gristle inwardly cursed his recent wound.warriors crop to p

He felt Wynn’s new, cobweb-soft beard on the curves of his ass, and then the wet velvet of his tongue sliding up and down the crack. “Damn it, Wynn! Stop!” But even as he said it, his prick swelled and hammered against the cloth underneath. He spread his legs then, giving in to the unaccustomed jolts of pleasure that traveled up his ass and into his very gut.

Soon he was moaning and arcing his ass high, seeking Wynn’s questing tongue, relishing the sensation of his lover’s mouth sucking on his anus. He was in danger of climaxing, he knew. “Fuck me!” His voice sounded strangled, thick with need.
As if in instant response to his pleas, he felt the broad dagger that was Wynn’s ready cock slide into his ass. It was a shock, and it was a hot-cool craving that took his breath again. How could he let this—this stripling, this inexperienced lad—take him as though he were a yielding maiden? He fought against it, he struggled, he loved every moment of Wynn’s adamant prick taking him, thrusting into a place so deep he lost all sense of time and place.

nude banner

w shield copy

For 2018… The all-new re-releases are here:

http://amzn.to/2n3sTgh

 

The third in tbe trilogy is an all-new work, here:

Kindle US http://amzn.to/2n3ojQ7
Kindle UK http://amzn.to/2DAaJOs 
Sea to Sky (pdf or epub) http://bit.ly/2n1frcN
Smashwords (epub) http://bit.ly/2DDap0y

Read Full Post »

Footprints in the wind

Obscenely and courageously ...

M.A. Lossl

An author's life, books, and historical research

Olga Schroeder Institute

Home of AJ Greywood's upcoming Paranormal Novel Secondary Ability

Unemployed Imagination.

M/M Novels, Historical and Contemporary...Erin O'Quinn

The Stories In Between

Author River Dixon

Celtic Fire

The Gaelic spirit lives here

suzanawylie

M/M Novels, Historical and Contemporary...Erin O'Quinn

Suzana Writes

Here you'll find fiction and poetry I've written

Ac´cent Gay Lit Authors

Where authors of gay lit strut their stuff

The Gaslight M/Mysteries

Gay retro with a twist

The Man in Romance

M/M Novels, Historical and Contemporary...Erin O'Quinn

GaelicMuse

Romance from Erin O'Quinn

Elin Gregory

Telling it like it was ...

%d bloggers like this: